Claus Trilogy (Boxed Set) Read online

  There was something attached to Nicholas’s head and strange bands around his wrists and ankles that allowed him to move but not too far, effectively restraining him to the chair with magnetic force. Nicholas struggled to sit up. It hurt the side of his face to move like that. It was probably better he didn’t stand.

  “Hey,” Nicholas said. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Where am I?”

  “The North Pole.”

  By the looks of the walls and floor, he could only assume they were inside an igloo, but it was too large and square to be an igloo.

  “Where are my wife and son?”

  “They’re safe,” was all he said.

  “Where are they?”

  No answer. Not even a grunt.

  Nicholas closed his eyes.

  He was with Jessica and Jon. They were trekking to the North Pole. He had gone out to look for their Inuit guides when the bizarre blizzard hit. And then his rope appeared to get cut before–

  He fell.

  He crashed somewhere deep and dark. His leg was broken. The side of his face, bloody.

  Where am I?

  The band around his head tingled.

  “You’re in the Arctic,” the fat man said. “More specifically, you’re with the elven people.”

  Nicholas stared at the back of the fat man’s head. Is he talking to me?

  “That halo interprets brain activity. We could do it without the halo, in wireless fashion, but the halo is more accurate. We know your name, where you’ve been, what you’ve done. Whether you’ve done good. Or bad.”

  The fat man grunted and muttered something that sounded like humans.

  Not in a good way.

  Where’s my family?

  Several moments passed and the fat man worked undistracted at the bench, light flickering around him. Nicholas figured he was lying about the halo. If he knew his thoughts, he’d know how worried he was. He’d know the empty cold fear in his stomach, not knowing if they were in danger–

  “They’re safe,” the fat man said. “Just not with us.”

  “Who are they with, then?”

  “Not us.”

  The cold fear turned hot. It was difficult to breathe.

  He drew a long breath.

  “Then tell me… WHERE!”

  The fat man stopped what he was doing.

  The flickering light died. He rested his hands, his head slumping. He snatched something off one of the short shelves above the bench.

  “Let me explain something.” The overcoat slid back as he turned, exposing bare feet that were fat and hairy. “I’m a scientist and healer. I’m not a magician. Where your family is right now is no business of mine. I cannot help them and neither can you. Not in that condition. I suggest you sit back, shut up, and stop thinking so much.”

  Who does this half-pint think he is? If I wasn’t strapped down, he’d be sorry he ever–

  “There you go again!” The fat man threw his hands up. “That’s the problem with you warmbloods; you’re always complicating things with thinking, thinking, thinking! You’ve got reality covered in layers of thought; how do you even tie your shoes? Just be present, just be here, AND STOP WITH THE MONKEY MIND!”

  They stared each other down.

  The fat man breathing hard.

  He dropped a coin-object on the floor. It projected an image – an exact likeness of a grown man, one Nicholas’s size – that was featureless and translucent, exposing the skeletal form inside.

  “You sustained compound fractures of the tibia and fibula as well as shattering the orbital socket around your left eye.”

  Nicholas saw the breaks on the image. The cheek had three cracks around the left eye, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as the broken bones in the leg.

  “You also sustained broken ribs. Worst of all, you punctured the left lung; that I was able to repair but not without significant scar tissue.”

  That was why Nicholas couldn’t catch his breath.

  “You’re lucky.”

  Lucky?

  “Yeah, lucky.” The fat man’s brows pinched over his eyes. “You’re alive, aren’t you? Those pitfall traps are meant to maim polar bears and other prey. What are you doing with your family in the Arctic in the first place?”

  “We were… seeking adventure.” Nicholas looked away.

  “Well, congratulations. You found it. You hauled your skinny butt into a climate you have no business being in. You’re a warmblood; you’re not made for Arctic weather. You wore the skins of wolves just to get this far. You weren’t going to make it much longer. If we didn’t find you, you’d probably be dead. So you’re lucky. Get it?”

  Nicholas noticed he was hardly dressed for the cold, but despite the icy walls, he was warm. This fat man didn’t know what he was talking about. He didn’t know where Nicholas grew up; he was accustomed to cold weather–

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” the fat man said. “You’d be dead without me. The nanos have elevated your core temperature until I can get your fatty layers developed.” The fat man slapped his belly. “Why do you think cold doesn’t bother an elven? We’re insulated like seals.”

  “And you look so happy.”

  The fat man grumbled.

  He held out his hand and the coin jumped into it like a magnet grabbing metal. The image with the broken bones evaporated.

  “What’s a nano?” Nicholas asked.

  The fat man went back to the bench and replaced the coin on the shelf.

  “I deal with technology, Santa. I’m afraid it’s beyond your comprehension.”

  “Try me.”

  Sigh. “You have been in an induced coma for a week. I fed you nano-pills that are still coursing through your veins, right now, reading your vital signs and mending your body.”

  “Nano…?”

  The fat man turned on his stool. “Tiny robots.”

  This isn’t happening. This is a dream.

  The fat man dropped a handful of spare parts on the floor. The little green man scooped them up and slid under the bench. He began assembling them with clicks and clacks and the buzz of strange tools.

  “You’re not dreaming,” the fat man said. “We’ve been around for tens of thousands of years, much longer than the human race. We evolved during the Ice Age and our bodies adapted to subzero temperatures. We belong here; you came to us. You walked into our world, Santa.”

  The bench flashed.

  “You’re with us, now,” he said.

  Nicholas strained against the binders.

  The room appeared to be made from ice and there weren’t any doors. He wasn’t going anywhere. Panic tightened around his throat and the weight on his chest – made worse by the scarred lung – got heavier with emotions.

  The click-clacks from under the bench got louder.

  The little green man looked up from his project. His face was puffy and leathery, but his eyes – hidden deep in folds of skin – were childlike.

  The little green man tugged on the fat man’s red coat. “Claus.”

  “Cane, stop,” Claus quipped. Just like an annoyed dad.

  Jessica. Jon. Where are you?

  Cane wasn’t a threat. He probably didn’t even like Claus. First, get out of the chair. There had to be a way out.

  “I’m not your enemy,” Claus said. “If these were different times, I’d be your friend. But they’re not. Sit back and let me do my job and we’ll get along just fine.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  Claus began clearing off the bench.

  “I’ll keep you comfortable, but there’s only so much I can do. If it makes you feel better, your wife and son are much better off than you are.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means they’re safe.”

  Nicholas relaxed, suddenly aware of the tension he was holding in his stomach. He had no reason to believe him. But he did. They’re safe. They’re safe.

  Claus didn’t look so angry. “You need rest.”

&nb
sp; The band around Nicholas’s head began to vibrate. His eyelids suddenly got heavy.

  Claus slid across the room and, without slowing, went through the solid wall. Nicholas didn’t notice the dark outline. He was already struggling to stay awake.

  The bench was glowing with the image of snow and ice, like a mirage. Maybe he was already dreaming. Nicholas saw Cane come over to his chair, felt him pat his arm. Something went click-clack. Cane slid across the room and through the same spot on the wall.

  Nicholas forced his eyes open.

  Click-clack.

  It was a little tin man made of spare parts that were bent and fastened into place, each one shined and expertly crafted. It stood on the armrest, just past his hand.

  And then it moved.

  The figure bowed to Nicholas and walked off the armrest like a ship’s plank. It somersaulted onto the floor and strutted away. That’s not technology. That’s magic.

  Nicholas couldn’t keep his eyes open to see if the little toy man made it across the room.

  C L A U S

  9.

  Nicholas slept.

  Occasionally, he heard objects shifting around and voices. Mostly grunts. He also heard click-clacks.

  He opened his eyes at some point.

  He was still on the recliner, the bands still around his wrists. He wasn’t aware of any pain, although it was still hard to breathe, like there was a stick inside his chest. He couldn’t tell if there were bands around his ankles.

  He couldn’t see his ankles!

  Always a fit man, Nicholas had never lost sight of his feet. Now his belly was round and doughy. He felt like a sack of lard. But he wasn’t cold.

  Even though he was only wearing his red long johns, he wasn’t cold at all.

  He woke a few times to an empty room. Once, a dirty red coat was hanging over a pile of gadgets. The next time he woke up, it was gone.

  Nicholas would close his eyes and go back to dreaming.

  He saw Jessica.

  Her hair was long and wavy and brown, but when the sun hit it just right, it would shimmer like leaves flashing on an aspen. He could smell her, too. She never wore fragrance; she wasn’t that sort of person. It was the scent of Jessica. The smell of her flesh, the smell of hard work and determination and something that felt warm and comfortable and homey.

  The smell that everything was all right.

  When Nicholas was fretful, when he came home at night with the world weighing on him, he would curl against Jessica and press his cheek against the nape of her neck and everything was all right. The world was simply just what it was. And Nicholas would want nothing more than to be there.

  He dreamed of his mother and father.

  Of the day he saw Jessica for the first time.

  Of the day she told him that she was pregnant with Jon. She had taken him to the park and they sat at the edge of a pond, lying back to watch the clouds drift overhead. Nicholas dreamed about how happy he was. He was going to be a father. He would be a good one. And Jessica, a good mother.

  Together, they sat on the bank, listening to the ducks squabble.

  Something clattered.

  Nicholas woke. There was a metallic bird perched on his fat belly. It spread its wings – wings crafted from bits and pieces of spare items scraped together and expertly wedged into layers like shiny feathers.

  It shook like a wet duck.

  Clickity-clack-clack-clack!

  And then the thing, as heavy as it looked and as impossible as it seemed, flapped its wings until it rose into the air. It flew in circles over Nicholas. And he watched it, thinking of water and clouds, of being a good father. A good husband. He watched it until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

  And then he went back to the park.

  Back to his Jessica.

  C L A U S

  10.

  Claus left Santa sleeping soundly.

  He managed to keep Nicholas’s good health somewhat disguised so it would appear he needed more time to heal. But his good fortune wouldn’t last forever. Soon, Jack would come for him. He would move him to another lab to begin work on him.

  After that, Claus wouldn’t be able to help him.

  He needed some air.

  Claus slid through the dark tunnel below the surface of the ice, his red coat fluttering. Cane wasn’t far behind. He could hear the little man’s green boots sloshing along the icy floor. His feet lacked the ice-skating bristles that most elven developed at the age of two. Cane was different.

  They moved rapidly, ascending into the upper levels of New Jack City. Once upon a time, the elven lived inside the ice shelf without altering it much topside. The elven had learned to control the polar ice caps thousands of years earlier; they could freeze water and open tunnels until it supported an entire population of short round people. It didn’t have a name; it was just called home.

  Things change.

  Now home was a massive mound of ice and snow, like an iceberg had been dropped from the sky. It was so much more than they needed. It wasn’t always like that.

  It is now.

  The tunnels lightened as they continued upward where windows let in sunlight. Claus passed open rooms and larger tunnels, through the marketplace, where elven set up booths with their wares for barter. The elven that saw him dropped what they were doing and waved. Some fell on their knees and clasped their hands in reverence. Claus acknowledged them with a nod and continued as quickly as possible.

  If he could ignore the marketplace, he would.

  Too many elven remembered him. Remembered who he was. He didn’t like them to see what he’d become.

  He took the main ramp that looped around the perimeter of New Jack City. Cane struggled to keep up. Claus kept up the pace until he reached the pinnacle of the icy kingdom.

  He swished onto the upper veranda: a wide platform with a view of the top of the world, where the dry Arctic wind scoured his thick skin until he felt its sting.

  He was alone with Cane at his side. Cane, always at his side.

  The sun was near the horizon. The Northern Lights – bands of green and red – were vague this time of year. He stood on the veranda, his coat – once a symbol of peace and love – snapped loudly behind him. What he once called home used to be his kingdom.

  Now his prison.

  He ruled with kindness. But, sometimes, raw power prevails.

  He should be dead. Jack let him live for this day, the day a warmblood entered their world.

  It was inevitable. They were adventurous and curious. Warmbloods were bound to find a way to trek into the deadly cold of the Arctic. And when they did, they would find an ancient species of Nordic elven waiting.

  Elven had lived in peace for forty thousand years, content to live with the world just as it is. There was no need to spread and conquer.

  Jack had different ideas. Ideas that could change the world.

  Somewhere out there, somewhere in the white landscape of the North Pole, a small group of elven had escaped Jack’s reach. The colony moved so they could not be located. Those brave elven were their only chance for peace to return to the North Pole. Somewhere out there was the rest of Nicholas’s family.

  Their chances of survival were better than his.

  Cane grabbed Claus’s belt and wrapped the coat around him, hiding like a polar cub finds protection in his mother’s arms.

  Someone’s coming.

  Claus felt them arrive. They were sliding up behind him. They slid to a stop on both sides of him. Two of them. They were wearing dark blue uniforms with a gold crescent over the left breast.

  “Excellence would like you to report to his quarters,” Pawn said. “Immediately.”

  Claus nodded. He watched the Northern Lights flicker.

  If Nicholas has to suffer, then so be it. Anything for peace.

  C L A U S

  11.

  Down to the bottom of New Jack City, deep into the ice.

  Pawn led the way. Cane clung to Claus’s flu
ttering coat. They coasted down the declining tunnel until it ended at a wall with guards on each side like sentries.

  A million tons of ice above them.

  So heavy. So cold.

  Claus entered a palatial chamber. The temperature dropped. His breath streamed in dense white clouds. The breadth and width of the room was staggering, filled with three-dimensional monitors projecting views from around the city and plush furniture to sit and watch every activity of the elven.

  Jack insisted they push deeper into the water, freezing the ice cap, expanding its thickness. When the ice didn’t properly set and then fractured, elven were swallowed by the ocean’s dark depths.

  Jack lost not a wink of sleep. Deeper! he cried. Colder.

  “Brother!” Jack waved from the other side.

  The only difference between the twin brothers was Jack’s blue skin. And hair. Jack had not one follicle of hair on his body. His head looked like it had been dipped in a bottle of diluted ink.

  “It’s been toooo long,” Jack shouted through his hands. “You been hiding from me or something, you dog?”

  Claus kicked forward, weaving between random ice sculptures. He couldn’t get around a large block of ice in the center of the room. He hadn’t seen the elven (San, Derning, and Shepperd were their names) in all the clutter.

  San, Derning and Shepperd nodded at Claus, careful not to let Jack see the twinkle in their eyes when Claus appeared. Snowballs exploded on the block of ice.

  “Get, get!” Jack shouted. “Come back later. GO! NOW!”

  They raced out.

  “Don’t mind that little thing,” Jack called. “Just a little piece I have them working on. Got to keep the elven doing something, right? Otherwise they just sit around getting fat. Am I right? Am I right?”

  Jack propped his hands on his belly and smiled.

  “Now get over here, brother.”

  Claus slid around the icy monolith.

  “Janack,” Claus said, nodding.

  “I told you not to call me that.”

  “It’s your name.”